


Dance the Macabray

by Elphen



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Danse Macabre, Dreams, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."<br/>Contemplations on their life together and what the future might bring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance the Macabray

**Author's Note:**

> Quote in summary is by Søren Kierkegaard - I suck at summaries, so if you can help, please.
> 
> Very many loving thanks goes to the absolutely wonderful TheMuchTooMerryMaiden for doing beta-work on this. Any remaining mistakes are all my own and my fault.
> 
> Rating is...well, for the imagery, really, to be on the safe side.

“’It’s really snow!’” The book closed with a snap. “Here endeth the chapter. And now it’s sleeping time for you, me girl,” said Robbie and put the book on the already overly cluttered night stand.

Big blue eyes – the mirror image of his own eyes at that age – looked up at him. They were trying to be even bigger and the mouth was pouting, bottom lip sticking out in a way that would melt the heart of anyone. Anyone, that is, who hadn’t had that particular trick tried used on him for years, both with this child and her mother. Her uncle, too, come to that, though Mark would never admit it now.

“But Grandpa,” the girl wheedled, “it’s only just gone nine. It’s far too early for me to sleep. I’m a big girl, now. Please read another chapter! I want to know what happens!” The pout grew more pronounced, which, along with the deliberate cute ‘lisping’, made her claim to be a ‘big girl’ seem preposterous and very, very sweet.

Robbie smiled at her and ruffled her golden brown curls. “That might be so, love, but given that you’re supposed to have been asleep an hour ago, I’d say we leave the next chapter for tomorrow, hm? Also, big girls don’t pout.” He put his index finger on her nose, pushing it up, and drew her bottom lip down slightly, gently, with his thumb. “Now, do you really want Pappy to come and read you Genesis?” he added teasingly, knowing her reaction.

He wasn’t disappointed; the eyes widened again, darted towards the doorway, looked for a moment and then disappeared as she ducked her head under the covers, snuggling quickly in. From deep under there came a very muffled “’Night, Gra’pa. Night Pap.”

As soon as he was sure she really was sleeping and not just pretending – she was good at that, the little tyke – Robbie stood up, putting the book under his arm, and walked over to the doorway. “She gets worse and worse, I swear,” he grumbled.

“She’s got me wrapped around her little finger, that’s for sure.” He looked at the person that had made his granddaughter give in and go to bed with a wistful smile.

“Well, that’s what grandfathers are for,” came the dry reply. “They are supposed to be all that the parents can’t be.” This was murmured into his ear as long, lanky arms wrapped around him. One hand plucked out the book from under his arm.

Robbie looked up into the long face above him. There was a small smile, but something was amiss; he hadn’t spent so many years in the other man’s company without picking up his moods. He sighed heavily. “What is it, pet? What have I done?”

He didn’t mean it to sound so accusing, didn’t mean for the furrow in the pale brow to deepen. A kiss was placed on that brow as an apology. It seemed to do the trick as the brow relaxed slightly. What he got as an answer was less than satisfying, however, in that he didn’t get one at all.

“Come to bed, sir,” accompanied by a small kiss on his cheek was all he got before his sergeant disappeared down the hall and into their bedroom.

Robbie sighed again, but went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He looked at himself in the mirror as he rubbed the foam-filled bristles across his teeth and had to once again wonder what on earth James saw in him. Not that he was decidedly ugly, but he’d never been what they called a looker even when he was a young lad and now...Now there were bags under his eyes, hard lines on his forehead and around his mouth and his cheeks were sagging slightly, too. Then there was his body...best not think of that. He made an effort to keep in shape these days and he thought it was working, but the fact of the matter was that he was far past his prime and James was right in the middle of his.

It had been a shock when one night after a rather lengthy drinking session at his house he’d leant forward and kissed James. He had started drinking on his own, believing that the blond was not coming around after all – they hadn’t actually made any plans, but it had become a regular occurrence, so it wasn’t that weird an assumption – and had entertained some dark thoughts through the evening. The surprise of finding Hathaway in his doorway was probably what, after even more drinks, made him a bit reckless – that coupled with the booze and his dark thoughts, at least. He had drawn back and apologized profusely when he’d realized what he’d done and hadn’t dared look James in the eye afraid of the horror and disgust he would see there.

Only it wasn’t there. When his head was turned around by the chin, a little forcefully given the gentle tugging didn’t work, he found James staring at him with a fierceness he had only witnessed in their most difficult and gruesome of cases and in there too was a hunger and frank love. He had then been the one to be kissed, thoroughly and passionately, one or the other of them – or maybe both – making small sounds of yearning.

The evening had...escalated from there and in the morning he had been prepared for reality – status, age, job, religion, gender, past to name but a few – to come crashing into the little piece of tranquil heaven that was the bedroom. But when James had finally woken up with a lazy stretch that made him look as if he was made of rubber, the younger man had merely smiled up at his superior, planted a firm kiss on his lips and got up with a question about whether he’d like tea or coffee along with his toast and eggs. Lewis had sat there, dumbfounded and blinking until he realized that there would be no talking and that everything was settled. The sergeant had decided that Robbie was his and that was that, really. Seemed perfectly logical, when you wore the right specs –probably specs made from Carroll’s looking glass, though. They’d simply moved on to a new level of showing their love towards one another, really, and Lewis had had no real problems with that, when push came to shove. Didn’t mean he couldn’t make comments about it from time to time, mind.

It had been five years since then. When, shortly after it happened, Lyn had told Lewis she was pregnant with the little troublemaker that was now curled up in the spare bedroom she had made it clear in polite, but firm tones that she expected to see both Robbie and James at the christening, because her baby deserved both her grandfathers to be there. She had merely winked when Lewis’ mouth had gaped open and sweetly asked if he wouldn’t pass on to James her wish for him to be the godfather, as well as a grandfather.

Not that she had been wrong – they had needed both the “grandfathers” there, as the bundle of joy that came was quite the handful and the older of them struggled at times to keep up with her. Luckily James had turned out to be an absolutely wonderful grandfather with the patience of a saint and the mischievousness of a devil; both mother and daughter loved him to bits and rarely let him have a moment of peace whenever they came to visit.

The reaction of his daughter was not unique, however; in fact, when they finally built up the nerve to come out to both Innocent and Hobson at the same time, the two women had looked at them then glanced at each other and finally broken down into fits of laughter that took quite some time to dissipate. When at last the sounds ebbed out, Hobson looked at the two dumb-founded men and, still with a twitch in her lips, bluntly told them that it was about time they decided to own up. The tension they had been projecting before they got together had been horrible, they were told, and then not to say anything when they had – the nerve of it! Now the two ladies were glad they had saved up enough balls to own up and Hobson smugly informed them as she swept back out of the room that Innocent had lost their bet on whether they ever would say it and she owed the blonde woman fifty quid.

Robbie spit out the toothpaste-foam left in his mouth, finished his bedtime-bathroom-routine and padded down the hall towards the bedroom. On the way he poked his head into the spare bedroom that had slowly turned into his granddaughter’s second room. She often spend a couple of days here, which helped keep Lynne sane and allowed Robbie, as he’d retired, to be a grandfather as he had never been able to be a father. Not that Lyn was angry at him, she had made that clear from the start, but she was happy he got another chance at it and that he had the time now.

They had talked several times over the years about whether or not it was time for Robbie to retire – more accurately they had argued and bickered about it for quite some time, James taking the affirmative side and Robbie the negative, before it settled into that tired-yet-fond-of-this-routine that an old argument takes on, like an old pair of shoes you’ve trodden virtually to death but you still wear them from time to time just for the sake of it.

About two years ago the decision had been taken out of their hands when, during the chase of a suspect, Lewis had been hit by a car from behind. After long hours spent, for James, worrying in the hospital – Hobson had told Robbie so afterwards, as she’d heard it from a friend in the ward – he was told Lewis would be alright, but that the impact had moved something in his spine. The young doctor quickly assured the blonde sergeant, hearing the suppressed gasp coming from him, that the older man would be able to walk, but that if he wanted to keep on being able to, he’d have to downsize on his work considerably and learn to take things a little slower. It would right itself, but time was very much what was needed for that.

Lewis had woken to find his sergeant staring at him in that disconcertingly blank way that was pure Hathaway and had, in an exasperated voice, asked what it was _this_ time. Then James had grinned, which was more worrying still and informed him that Innocent and he had agreed that it was time for the inspector to concentrate on his home life. Innocent had already signed the papers, Lewis had been informed through that grin Puck himself couldn’t have matched.

“What bloody papers?” he’d asked, though the horrible drop forming in his gut gave him a hint.

“The papers, sir, that means you’ll be mine and mine alone from morning to night. Your retirement and my resignation.”

“And if I refuse to sign?” “Oh, you’ve already signed, sir.” Hathaway flexed his linked hands almost absentmindedly. “You don’t remember being awake for that?”

The penny dropped. “Why, you dirty, cheeky little sod! You-“ He was silenced by a kiss that...lasted for some time. Good thing it was a single bed room.

Lewis knew when he’d lost. The retirement hadn’t worked out so bad, all things considered. The injury in his back after being hit by the car certainly appreciated him being able to take things more slowly and while he was not exactly a spring chicken, the pain had subsided over time to an ache he could just as easily think was only old age, though doing the garden certainly proved there was more to it.

James had been serious about his resignation from the police force, too. They had argued about that as well, but the blonde had made it abundantly clear that if Thames Valley Police didn’t have a Lewis, neither would they have a Hathaway. Instead he’d gone into doing lectures, mostly on religion in culture and seemed to be doing rather well. It got him home at reasonable hours, at least, and Robbie was spared the worry of how James would get on with a new boss, though there were plenty of students clamouring for his attention, academic and...otherwise.

Robbie sighed - he seemed to be doing that a lot tonight - as he looked at his granddaughter sleeping soundly and turned off the light in her room before closing the door. Well, so far James was still sticking to his old superior, despite everything that had been thrown at him, big-chested girls and soft, lean boys included.

“Are you going to wander the halls all night or are you actually coming to bed?” the voice of the blonde floated down the hall.

“Coming, pet,” the brunette replied. When he got to the doorway, though, he had to stop and look. Sitting up against the headboard in what could only be a very uncomfortable position with the covers pulled up to his waist, worn white t-shirt riding up at the back, glasses perched at the very end of the long nose and an intense expression as page after page was turned.

“Don’t tell me you’ve employed your powers of speed-read to get to where I stopped reading tonight?”

“Of course not, that would be silly,” came the dry reply. “I already know that part. I’ve heard you read it out, remember?”

“Arh, yes – and here was me thinking a story for children read by an old codger was too lowbrow for you to pay attention to,” Lewis mumbled as he got under the covers. “ _My_ old codger,” James replied with a small smile as he kissed his lover’s cheek. He didn’t close the book, however, and Robbie could see he was at around the place where he had stopped reading.

“Why, exactly, are you bothering with the book, though? You’ve clearly gotten no further than I did reading out loud and well...you’re not the target audience.”

“It’s this chapter here, ‘Danse Macabre’, the one you just read. It’s obviously a reference to the Danse Macabre, an allegory of death that has its visual roots in medieval Europe, showing how in death we are all the same, though some believe it dates-.”

“Yes, yes, I know, James, working with both Morse and you does rub off at some point, y’know. There’s even a tune with the name, I believe, written back in the 1800s?”

“Well done, Robbie.” James grinned at the eye-roll, knowing it would annoy the older man just the teeniest bit for him to use a slight patronizing tone. “Camille Saint-Saëns, I believe it was, in the 1870s, though in that the violin playing is supposed to represent Death calling forth the dead and making them dance. But my point is, why tie it to a children’s book, even one with such a title? Why make it into something cheerful and mysterious, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for ghosts and humans to dance together, but the humans won’t know it? I actually felt my skin crawling when you read that.”

“So that’s what got your forehead all wrinkly earlier. Well, pet, I have a little theory on that,” Lewis chuckled as he curled himself around the still sitting Hathaway. “First off, you are, as I said, not the target audience for this book, though I admit to liking it meself as I read. Kids get something else out of books than adults do and if you try to look at it from an adult’s point of view, you miss essential points. Secondly...”

“Secondly?” the blonde inquired, closing the book and snuggling down beside his lover, draping long limbs over him under the covers.

“You think too bloody much. Now go to sleep, I’m absolutely knackered.”

 

\------------------------

 

Apparently knackered did not equal no dreams. As Lewis opened his eyes, he instantly knew it had to be a dream. The fact that he knew he went to sleep in his own house, in a bed, in an old set of pyjamas is a hint as is the blurriness of what little setting there is. Not fuzzy-vision-blurry, but an honest lack of clarity on every bit of detail in the room. There was also music playing, but it was too soft yet for him to discern any kind of tune or beat.

Somebody came towards him, getting clearer step by step. But he knew who it was long before it should have been possible for him to do so. Having been married to someone for half his life did help you recognize them, after all.

When Val reached him, she smiled at him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. The brunette knew it was silly, given that this was a dream and therefore a projection of his own mind, but he wanted to ask her something. Actually he wanted to ask her so many things, but one thing in particular had been on his mind for a very long time. He loved his dishy blonde with every fibre of his being, but a tiny bit of him had always worried whether Val would have been okay with the two men getting together. Not that his wife had ever been a homophobe, but being okay with gays in general and being okay with your husband getting together with another male were two _very_ different things, after all.

The old inspector opened his mouth to ask, but before he could get any words out, a finger was put on his lips. His wife looked up at him and shook her head lightly, smiling all the way. She laced her right hand with his and directed his left to the small of her back. As she laid her head upon his shoulder and they started to dance, the music got louder and while he couldn’t put a finger on the name of the tune, it was definitely familiar. Especially the haunting violin that dominated the piece.

They moved into a waltz though Robbie was at a loss to say whether they moved to the music or not. He tried once more to speak, but found that his voice would not work. So he sighed and contented himself with the feel of the wonderful woman he still missed pressing against him as they danced.

Though the fact that it was a dream was probably at least partly to blame for the passing of time seeming off, all too soon he felt a tap on his shoulder. They didn’t stop dancing, but given that it was a dream the northerner was able to turn his head and see his old inspector standing there, hands in pockets, smiling at him.

As Val and he slowly came to a halt, Morse looked questioningly at first Lewis and then at his wife. The woman smiled and disentangled herself from her husband, only to take the hand of the white-haired man. As they started dancing, the music got louder still and they twirled faster and faster as they slowly disappeared. The brunette tried to call out to them, but once more, his voice did not work – either that or the music was drowning it out. The violin wound its notes around him as if it was attempting to invite him to dance with it instead.

Just as he thought that, he could feel thin hands on his shoulders and for a moment he thought it to be James. When he turned around, though, it became clear that it wasn’t James. At least Robbie desperately hoped it wasn’t.

White teeth flashed at him, competing with the whiteness of the rest of the face and the rest of the body, for that matter, though the body was covered in long black robes and a white ruff around his neck, strangely like those portraits from the Renaissance he was sometimes dragged along to see. Turned out the thin hands were in fact skeletal, quite literally skeletal. The skull bowed in polite greeting, the small crown on top of it becoming more visible, as the hands grabbed his and twirled him into another waltz, this one much faster than the one he’d had with Val as the tempo of the music increased, matching their steps.

On and on they danced and while the former inspector knew he should be unsettled by the fact that he was dancing with Death, but he wasn’t. If anything, it was strangely comforting though he did have a small sense of dread and worry lurking in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was that he’d just seen two people Death had already taken away and he felt no anger from them or from himself at the skeletal figure. But he wasn’t ready to die himself yet; he had too many things left to do, too much love left to give, which would explain the dread.

When the music stopped and they came to a halt, Death let go of one of his hands, but not of the other. Instead the robed skeleton bowed again and held out its free hand as if giving directions. Lewis could see a door opening in the direction the hand pointed, white light spilling out from the opening, and he realized with a sinking feeling that what he’d been dreading was about to come through. But it was only a dream, wasn’t it? Even if you died in a dream, that didn’t mean you were going to die in the waking world, did it? No, of course not. Of course...

Panic slowly rising, the brunette tried to pull out of the grasp, which unfortunately just tightened. Death looked almost sad, as if it – he? – too was sorry about the outcome, but that there wasn’t much to be done about it.

His free hand was grabbed by a large, warm hand of a _living_ person and he felt a tug. It was James’ face he stared up into when he lifted his face to see who had grabbed his hand. The blonde smiled at him reassuringly and stepped in front of the older man so that he stood between his lover and the skeleton, still holding onto his hand. It occurred to the northerner then that Hathaway was dressed somewhat...differently, was all Lewis could decipher, and holding a sword, a duelling sword.

The sword wasn’t being pointed towards the Grim Reaper; it wasn’t a challenge the former sergeant was issuing. Instead the sword was directed sidewards, effectively creating a barrier between Robbie and the skeletal figure. Blue-grey eyes, flaring with determination, bore into black sockets for long moments, neither of them backing down.

After what felt like hours, though that might again just have been the fact that it was a dream, Death inclined his head and let go of Lewis’ hand. The older man felt himself being gathered into the arms of the tall blonde and kissed thoroughly. Then Hathaway let go and stepped back, taking the skeleton’s hand. A small, apologetic smile adorned the long face before he turned away and began walking towards the open door after Death.

\-------------------------------

 

“James!”

Lewis woke sweaty and shaking like a leaf. Only strong arms around him kept him from bolting right up and out of the bed. He turned his head slowly to look into a face with long features and intense eyes clouded with worry.

“What is it, Robbie? What have you been dreaming? You’ve been twisting and turning like a man trying to relieve his skin from the fires of Hell itself, making small, quite distressing sounds all the while, and while I normally don’t mind you calling out my name in your sleep, I do prefer it not to be when your face is all twisted up in pain and horror.”

“Oh, pet,” the ex-inspector gasped as he buried his face into Hathaway’s chest. He didn’t say anything more for some time, only concentrated on calming his rasping, heaving breaths down to something approaching normality. All the while he felt his old sergeant rub soothing patterns on his back and whisper soothing nothings into his ear.

Eventually his breathing did even out to where he thought he could manage talking again, but as he tried to disentangle himself, the arms around him only tightened their hold. He looked up and saw his lover giving him the Hathaway Stare. It had achieved the status of a title over the years, being so uniquely _James_ – it was actually amazing it had not yet earned itself a copyright mark. Or at least an R, all rights reserved.

“Don’t ever leave,” Robbie muttered into the warm chest before him.

“What was that?”

“I think you heard, James. You usually do even when you pretend you don’t.”

“Why would I leave? If I had intentions of bolting, I would have done so already.” Hathaway looked up at the ceiling, suddenly thinking. “But you know that. So even if your dream was about me packing my very few belongings and leaving, you’d know it was only a dream. So what was it?”

“’Few belongings’, my backside!” snorted the brunette as he glanced up again, glad to have a bit of banter to ease his still pounding heart. “Your stuff takes up twice as much room as mine does.”

The younger man just smiled slightly and kept looking at the man in his arms. Robbie knew this tactic; he’d used it himself often enough and seen James use it countless of times, too. Wait it out in silence and eventually they’ll fold. Well, sometimes it worked, at least.

There was no getting around it, though; if Lewis didn’t talk, he knew his lover would pester him about it until he did. Not in any direct way, just niggling little things that would eventually make him give up. That was just the way James worked, former copper or not.

So he told him. Uncomfortably enough, the dream hadn’t faded as most dreams did and he was able to give a fairly accurate account. When he got to the end, he was shaking slightly, however. It had not been pleasant to dream it and to talk about it again so shortly after definitely wasn’t helping.

“So...” James drawled after long, quiet moments and Robbie stiffened slightly. He knew that tone of voice, even disguised under usual Hathaway.” You’re okay with you leaving me by dying, but not the other way around? Hm, never had you down as that selfish, really.”

Had it been any other time, had the older man not felt so shaken and scared still, he probably would have risen to the barb, but as it was, he only saw it as bait he was meant to rise to.

“If you’d _listened_ , you’d know that I was just as scared at the prospect of leaving you. Not dying, though, not really.” Lewis saw Hathaway open his mouth to say something and quickly cut in. “James, lad, I’m getting old. No, I don’t want to hear any arguments, it’s a fact. When you do get old, and honestly I’m pleasantly surprised I get to, given how my life has been, you have to come to terms with dying, that goes with the territory. But even more than dying meself, the fact of you dying, possibly to spare me – that thought scared me. Still scares me.”

Robbie smiled softly and framed the long, smooth face with hands that bore the marks of a life lived.“I love you, you daft bugger. Is it so wrong to be afraid to lose you? To watch you sacrifice yourself for me and be powerless?”

“Then let’s get married.”

“You what?”

“Let’s get married – Lyn would be thrilled, not to mention Laura.”

Lewis stared as if the former sergeant had just suggested a four-some with Innocent and Laura. “Hang on, hang on, what kind of mental roundabout did your brain just go through there, James? How would getting married solve anything?”

“Well, it’s simple, sir” – and why on earth was it that after all these years, Hathaway _still_ used the ‘sir’ when he was being mean or clever? – “when you think about it. It brings security and safety and I will be forever bound to you, whatever happens.” There, that insufferable smug look as if he’d worked out the mysteries of the universe itself was back on the blonde’s face.

Robbie, hands still on either side of that smug face, gave him a light clip on one ear. “Smartarse. You know that applies, married or not. But what about your faith? Last I checked, the Catholic Church isn’t exactly hot on-“

He was silenced by a kiss. “If I should adhere to their beliefs, I should have flogged myself years ago for even thinking about getting together with you, my dear Robbie. For even wanting to, really.” Another kiss. “So honestly, if you don’t mind it, I chose marriage or registered partnership or whatever we’ll be allowed to get, over some views put out by prudish arses over a millennium ago.” James hesitated, his face suddenly the picture of uncertainty. You don’t mind, do you? Perhaps the idea was too soon? I’m sor-“

“Of course I don’t mind, silly sod. I might be a bit old-fashioned, but I’m not as stiff as all that - and you’re right, it would be nice to show I’m well and truly taken as well as shutting up our Lyn. That way, when I pass on, I can do so in the knowledge that you’re safe. Also, I would love to see you in white.” Lewis grinned and his grin only widened when Hathaway’s face contorted at the contemplation. Oh, this felt good indeed.

“Well, pet, being a widower, _I_ can’t be the one wearing white, can I?”

**Author's Note:**

> The book mentioned, for those who don't know, is The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman and the title is indeed taken from there, too. I didn't want to call it out in the fic itself, as it's not the point. The melody Danse Macabre was written in 1874 and it's the tune I'm alluding to in the dream-segment. If you want to listen to it, it's here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM


End file.
